Paralyzed
by myunhealthyaddiction
Summary: The dark circles under his eyes became more apparent; his clothes became baggy; his grades began dropping … but he did not care. He found it ironic - allowing himself to waste away, wishing to end his life; he couldn't imagine any former Death Eater, forced or not, feeling the need to consume their own death.


This one-shot is inspired by this YouTube video: Draco Malfoy | Paralyzed by magloveswinter

Enjoy!

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 _When did I become so numb?_

With the war over and the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry rebuilt to its former glory, life could continue as normal as possible. Those who were robbed of their education during the year that the war reigned supreme were allowed to return to retake their year, even the seventh-years. One seventh-year, however, had no choice.

But when in his life had he ever had a choice? His fate had been chosen by his careless father and the lunatic he had worshipped; from the moment he first opened his grey eyes to the world, he was doomed to become the husk of a person he wished to never have been. Now, with the Dark Lord dead and his father in Azkaban Prison, the Ministry for Magic felt fit to decide how to torture him more. While he and his mother were pardoned at the demand of the Chosen One, he knew he would forever be the Ministry's toy, the stick they would bend just to see how long it would take for him to snap.

 _When did I lose myself?_

In the Great Hall, no one dared to sit with him as he felt too bothered to eat. In class, no one would partner with him on any projects, his once bright eyes now lifeless. In his common room, he could feel the stares burning his too pale skin. In the library, he could hear the hushed whispers breathing his name in inhumane, indiscreet lies … Or were they really the truth?

He didn't really know who he was anymore; he was nothing more than a hollow shell now, the physical and mental damage of the war on clear display without a soul to care. During the nights, he would escape to the same bathroom where the Chosen One himself confronted him almost three years ago. There, he could wail freely, his tears invisibly staining the tiled floors and his entire body shaking from the intensity of the emotions he never realized he still had, but Myrtle would comfort him no more.

 _All the words that leave my tongue feel like they came from someone else._

Back then, his words were those of the programmed robot his father had fixated into his brain. Now, when anyone dared to rile him up, his words were empty and meaningless. Everyone would watch in half-shock half-pride as he would pathetically ask them to leave him be. Their laughs would do nothing but shut him down further, further into the lonely darkness his heart now called home.

They would remind him of the things he used to say, the ways he used to taunt others, the things he used to do, throw it back in his face like spoiled milk. They sabotaged his things, made him look like a fool in front of their professors, smiled as his soul sunk deeper into the abyss. At this point, he knew he wouldn't make it to the end of the year, and he wouldn't snap in the way the Ministry is expecting him to, either.

 _I'm paralyzed._

 _Where are my feelings?_

 _I no longer feel things I know I should._

There were many times since his third year that he wished he could've faced the boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so that his peers could've seen a real piece to his soul, so that his professors could have protected him from the role he was forced to play, so that his mother could have have a reason to break free from their father's tyranny over them long before the Dark Lord took their home.

The Chosen One, Professor Remus Lupin, and all the others would've seen his boggart turn into the Death Eaters forcing the Dark Mark onto his skin. They would've heard the threats that his father still sends his way from behind the bars. They would've felt the absolute horror that consumed him the night of his sixteenth birthday. They would've known he never wanted to be who he had become.

 _I'm paralyzed._

 _Where is the real me?_

 _I'm lost and it kills me inside._

He had gone in disguise to Fred Weasley's funeral, staying in the back the entire time. He had wanted so badly to thank the mother Weasley for killing his aunt Bellatrix; he had wanted to give his condolences to the father Weasley; he had wanted to ask for forgiveness of Ron. He watched as Ron stayed strong until he was allowed to be alone at his brother's grave, sitting beside the stone and hugging it while he let his tears pour into the soil, crying out for his brother to come back.

After everyone had left, he conjured up a beautiful bouquet of roses at the foot of the grave. He let his own tears fall, begged for Fred's forgiveness, though he knew he deserved none. He traced Fred's name with his index finger, not even flinching when a sharp edge of stone pricked his finger. He spelled away the blood that dripped onto the gravestone, not wanting to taint an angel's memorial with his filthy existence. And as he stood to leave, he saw the other Weasley twin watching him from far away; he refused to acknowledge that.

 _When did I become so cold?_

As the year continued on, the dark circles under his eyes became more apparent; his clothes became baggy; his grades began dropping … but he did not care. And neither did anyone else, it seemed, for no one decided to speak up. He would find himself searching poisonous potions or spells to practice that could easily go very, very wrong. He found it ironic - allowing himself to waste away, wishing to end his life; he couldn't imagine any former Death Eater, forced or not, feeling the need to consume their own death.

With his godfather gone, Horace Slughorn had now become Head of Slytherin House once more, and the Potions Master had not once asked why such dastardly potion notes lay on his bed or in his shoulder bag, or why he was so withdrawn, or why he looked like a human example of the Draught of Living Death. His 'friends' didn't care, either; the ones who were lucky to escape punishment, like Pansy and Millicent, refused to have anything to do with him anymore. Others, like Goyle and Blaise, were rotting away with his father.

 _When did I become ashamed?_

Around mid-January, he received a very short letter from Looney Lovegood, telling him to forgive himself because she had as well. Half of him wanted to burn the blasted note, but the other half convinced him to keep it in his pocket at all times. He would watch as she would interact with the Chosen One and his friends, seeming happy and without a care in the world. As the month came to a close, he noticed that Loony and the Chosen One would watch him whenever he was nearby, as if they were concerned. But he knew better than to hope someone actually cared about him besides his mother.

Then he received a note from the Chosen One himself, asking a single question: Are you okay?

 _Where's the person that I know?_

 _They must have left with all my faith._

He began to take to spending his nights, no matter how cold, up in the Astronomy Tower, looking at the spot where he had disarmed the great Albus Dumbledore, the spot where the greatest Headmaster of Hogwarts was killed … and he didn't do a thing to stop it. On the nights he felt particularly angsty, he would lean against the railing that Dumbledore had spent his last minutes alive holding onto for support. He would look down at how far the headmaster had fallen, thankful the headmaster hadn't felt a thing when he landed at the stoney bottom.

More than once, he wondered if he would feel anything at the bottom if he jumped from the same ledge. He figured that if he did, he deserved to spend those last seconds in agony for all the pain he had caused others. Every night, he wondered if it would be his last, wondered if he would finally climb over and let go. The wind seemed to coax him, and the moon seemed to encourage him, but he ignored them every time.

 _I'm paralyzed._

 _Where are my feelings?_

 _I no longer feel things I know I should._

It was on a beautiful March night, when he was feeling particularly run-down, that the Chosen One joined his side on the balcony of the Astronomy Tower, watching the owls as they took to the clear skies with carefree grace.

"You never answered my owl."

"Couldn't be bothered."

"Seems you can't be bothered to do much these days."

He looked at the Chosen One with a meaningless glare. He turned to leave, his peer grabbing him by the arm to keep him put.

"Draco … please. Let me help you."

 _I'm paralyzed._

 _Where is the real me?_

 _I'm lost and it kills me inside._

"Promise this isn't a prank, Potter?"

"I'd make the Unbreakable Vow if that's the only way you'd believe me. But I refuse to stand by any longer and watch you kill yourself."

…

"Okay … I trust you, Harry."

 _I'm paralyzed._


End file.
